


can't escape (your destiny)

by lincesque



Category: Justice League, Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons)
Genre: Angst, Assisted Suicide, Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-29
Updated: 2012-02-29
Packaged: 2017-10-31 21:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lincesque/pseuds/lincesque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark's smile is warm and his eyes a clear blue when he hands Bruce that little lead lined box. "I want there to be somebody I can trust, to keep the planet safe, even from me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	can't escape (your destiny)

**Author's Note:**

> For Sasu: Good luck on your novel!

Clark's smile is warm and his eyes a clear blue when he hands Bruce that little lead lined box. "I want there to be somebody I can trust, to keep the planet safe, even from me."

Bruce touches the lid and his gloved fingers stroke over it, almost unconsciously. He looks almost surprised but doesn't comment. Instead, he steps onto the teleporter, allowing Clark to return him back to Gotham.

In the split instant before he vanishes, however, Clark can almost swear that he sees Bruce's lips twitch upwards, just a little, in response.

Wishful thinking, he tells himself. But tucks that little hope away anyway, into that corner of his heart that he guards the fiercest.

 _I wish_. _One day_. _Maybe_. These are words Clark tells himself a hundred thousand times over and sometimes, on days like this, he can even let himself believe.

*

Alfred finds the blueprints sitting amongst the hundreds of printouts scattered about the Batcave.

He studies it carefully and when its purpose suddenly occurs to him, he frowns but nevertheless tucks it away safe, in the drawer that holds a little lead box.

He doesn’t say a word.

*

Wally’s death is a tragedy. It almost shatters the Justice League from inside.

Diana and Shayera show their grief the easiest. They mourn with tears and choked back sobs and find comfort with soft words murmured and each other’s company.

Hal copes by being alone. He was probably the closest to Wally within the League. It’s Hal who breaks the news to a distraught Linda and it’s Hal who stays with her, helping her cope through the tears and letting her have a target for her anger. After, he marks himself unavailable for a month on the roster and just takes off for Oa without a word.

J’onn mediates deeply, coming out of his shielded room very rarely. He feels the grief sodden atmosphere every time he steps foot outside and it drains him. He distances himself from everyone, and takes most of the missions on Earth just to get away from it all.

Bruce spends his days prowling the corridors of the Watchtower or the streets of Gotham, sleeping little, eating less, never resting. He never lets himself stop unless he drops from exhaustion. It’s the only way the dreams don’t get to him.

Clark is silent and the rest of the team are too occupied by their own pain and thoughts to pay attention to anyone else’s, even their leader’s.

Clark is silent and he sits and reflects on his actions. Their actions. 

And he sees the fatal flaw.

*

The gun glimmers dully under artificial light and it’s a heavy weight in Bruce’s hand. It’s the perfect replica created from the blueprints he drafted, long destroyed.

He slides it back into the drawer and turns away; there are more pressing things to deal with.

It’s just a contingency plan anyway.

*

"What have you done?" Bruce asks, eyes wild and Clark can almost taste the surprise, the anger. So beautiful he is, his Bruce.

Clark smiles and watches the blood seep slowly through his fingers, splattering over the floor in slow drops. "What I should've done from the start. What we all should have done."

Bruce's frowns, his displeasure and that beautiful, beautiful anger simmers closer to the surface than ever. He shakes his head, slowly, then faster. "No. I'm done here. It's over. _We're_ over." Bruce turns his back, a deliberate insult, and sweeps down the gilded hallways, away from where Clark stands, but never away from his gaze.

Diana gives Clark a worried look but he just smiles back at her, calm, in control. Her brows furrow just a little and she follows after Bruce.

Clark knows that she's going to try talking Bruce back. He also knows that it won't work.

Bruce has always been so stubborn.

Clark smiles and turns to the window, ignoring the blood seeping through the carpet that stains his boots an even darker crimson.

The sky is perfect, a blue just a shade removed from the colour of his own eyes, the sun warms him and strengthens him and Clark closes his eyes and listens as Bruce activates his teleporter and returns to the Watchtower.

And he knows that he wouldn't have Bruce any other way.

*

The empty chamber of the gun clicks as Bruce spins it idly. 

He closes his eyes and breathes; the sharp smell of oiled metal permeates the cold air and the gun is cool where it touches his skin. 

Bruce slides it until it sits comfortably under; its body pressed against his throat and muzzle directly against the soft flesh just behind his lower jaw.

When he presses the trigger, there’s nothing more than a gentle click from an empty chamber.

And he wonders.

*

It is Bruce who searches him out first, setting foot back on the Watchtower for the first time in a month.

Clark stands still in the observatory and takes one moment to just _listen_ to the sound of that beloved heartbeat.

“It won’t bring Wally back.” Bruce’s voice is all Batman, dark, raspy. The voice of someone who’s seen too much and is tired, too tired to go on but continues anyway because there is simply no one else.

“No,” Clark agrees. “It won’t.” 

He turns to face Bruce and raises a hand, palm upwards, reaching out. “But we can avenge him.”

Bruce doesn’t even look at the proffered hand but Clark doesn’t let it bother him, taking a few steps forward and closer to Bruce.

“This is a path we’re never going to be able to walk away from.” Bruce tells him, meeting him eye to eye. 

Clark smiles. They both know it’s just a token protest. Bruce’s presence here is a silent announcement that, for better or for worse, he’s agreed to join him.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Together.” Clark is earnest, almost endearingly so, and he takes another step forward. They’re now so close to each other that Clark’s fingers can brush Bruce’s without having to reach out.

Bruce doesn’t back away, despite the intrusion into his personal space, and tilts his chin up, pure arrogance. “We’re going to burn the world down around us.” And his words aren’t a threat, they’re a warning. Bruce, brilliant as he is, knows that once they do this, not only will there be no turning back, there’s only one way it can end.

Clark runs the back of one hand gently over Bruce’s cheek and leans forward so that their lips are just a breath from each other. “Then so be it.” And the words are breathed against Bruce’s lips and promised against the slick open heat of his mouth.

*

The gun sits in the drawer. Bruce’s fingers brush over it but pass it over for that little lead box. 

The green glow inside hasn’t dimmed a bit, he sees when he removes the lid. The colour is mesmerizing, but he knows that it’s nothing in comparison with the beauty of Clark’s eyes.

Clark.

His lashes dip, dark smudges against his cheek, as he closes his eyes and _considers_.

*

They stand shoulder to shoulder on the Watchtower, their gazes fixed on the Earth spread below them. 

Their Earth.

They rule the planet now, with iron wills and martial law. They are judge, jury and executioner. They are the Gods they were meant to be.

Clark slides his fingers to tangle with Bruce’s and smiles when Bruce doesn’t jerk away.

“They’re starting to resist us.” Bruce says, tone neutral.

Clark laughs, “Let them try. They’ll eventually learn to accept that what we’re only doing is only right. For them, for the world.”

Bruce’s fingers tighten against Clark’s own for a split second before he turns and walks away. His words are so quiet that Clark only just catches them. 

“Are we?”

*

The gentle clink of the bullet sliding into the chamber is so soft, yet so loud at the same time. 

It’s a perfect fit and the glow bathes Bruce’s face in soft green for one moment before he clicks the chamber shut.

All good things must come to an end, Bruce tells himself and the corners of his mouth lift the tiniest fraction. 

The contingency plan, he thinks and presses the ‘send’ button. All the information he holds in his supercomputer is now available to Earth’s rebel faction. 

It’s the only way. 

The only way to stop this. 

The only way to stop them.

Bruce allows himself to sit in silence for one long moment after. Just the one moment. Then he presses the key that connects his transmitter with another on a private frequency. 

“Batman to Superman.”

*

The safety clicks off and it's loud, so loud and it echoes almost ominously around the cave.

Neither of them dare to look away from each other. And Clark's drowning in those sea blue eyes, like falling headfirst into the deepest chasm the ocean can offer. They're so close that they're breathing each other's air, quick soft gasps like they can't breathe. Like they're both drowning.

His enhanced hearing tells him that there's almost an entire army slowly gathering outside Wayne Manor, creeping through the secret passageways, closing in on their sanctuary, armed with armour piercing rounds and kryponite with orders to kill. Then there's the bullet, green, glowing, that Clark can feel and at this close range, it saps at his strength, slowly but surely.

He doesn't care about either of those things, he's beyond caring. There's only Bruce in front of him and the feel of a warm metal barrel pressed against his temple, caressing, almost like a lover's kiss.

A kiss, their last, he thinks dreamily and presses forwards, touching his lips to Bruce's; gentle. Soft. Chaste.

Bruce's lips move under his and Clark knows the words he's mouthing without hearing them spoken out loud.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

_I'm sorry._

Clark forgives him, just like he always does, did and presses a final kiss to Bruce’s forehead, soothing, gentle. In the end, the blame really lies with him anyway. He was the one who took the first step onto a path neither could ever turn back from, he was the one who took Bruce by the hand and led him to this end.

But there are no regrets. Not here, not now. Never.

The gun muzzle moves from his temple to the nape of his neck, ruffling his hair as it slides and settles against the back of his head. The pounding of booted feet are closer and getting more cautious as they close in.

But they will not succeed, they are worthy of neither his life nor Bruce’s. He and Bruce can only and do only belong to each other.

Clark smiles and leans forward enough so that their foreheads touch. He hears Bruce’s finger whisper over the trigger.

Everything goes dark.

**Author's Note:**

> I watched JL:Doom a few weeks back and the ending scene was adorable. And of course my brain decides that ‘adorable’ must equal ‘angst’ + ‘character death’ so um. Apologies for that. 
> 
> I adored the movie, it was amazing and HAL! Technically, John should be the Green Lantern in this fic, but because Hal is forever my favourite, I ended up using a mashup of DCAU and the JL:D movieverse. So um. That kind of explains the Justice Lords thing. And also how the Flash is Wally West rather than Barry Allen. Hopefully. If not, please just ignore my noobness ahahfoaj. Sob.


End file.
